


Deep at the Centre of Your Being

by deathwailart



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face-Sitting, Oral Sex, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 08:31:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2262900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bjorn is more than happy to prove just how much he respects Þorunn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deep at the Centre of Your Being

She is no shield-maiden, not yet at least.  
  
What she is though, is free. She is free to choose and to learn the weight of a shield strapped to one arm and a blade in the other, to make her own choices for once and the joy of it keeps her going even when her body grows weary, unaccustomed to this sort of work. She smiles as she sweats, learns the dance to the beat of her pounding heart and sword against shield.  
  
She thanks the Gods each morning and night for this.  
  
When Björn returns, too bashful for a son of Ragnar though she does not know him well, only the stories she has heard. It is Lagertha she hears of more, awestruck by this woman who must surely be a Valkyrie, the way she arrives and seems to make all well and sure once more.  
  
(Sometimes she thinks she would like the sort of son Lagertha has raised but chases the thought away, she wants to be a shield-maiden first, wants to prove herself, wants to fight and bleed and sweat because she can, because it is her choice.)  
  
So she challenges him.  
  
Björn bests her, of course he does, they call him Ironside now and he has always known how to fight. His shoulders are broad and all of him is muscle. Trained by his father and his mother and his uncle, with all the rest of the warriors she once served and perhaps she will stand equal with some of them one day. He is gentle with her at first and she is furious, she keeps pushing, through the hurt, through the pain until he fights back, until they – she more than him – are bloodied and bruised.  
  
"Shall I prove it to you?" He asks her, his words serious but his face – it is still a boy's face in some respects, too young for all he has done already – gives him away, the blush staining his cheeks and up to his ears, down his throat. "Come here," he urges, "I am happy to prove how much I respect you."  
  
It is easy to gather her dress up in her hands, to pull it up and over her head as he strips off his shirt though she is the one to remove his trousers, slowly as she maps out the lines of his body with her hands, grinning when she finds a ticklish spot by accident, watching how his stomach tightens and he tries not to make a sound. He's half-hard before she undoes the laces of his trousers, momentarily distracted by the cut of his hips, that she can have this, that he is giving himself to her instead of taking the way she has been in the past, that she could still say no and he would listen. She kisses him because she can, his hands in her hair, tugging his trousers down until his cock is against her belly, hot and hard and urgent until they both realise they have boots to remove and wobble around to do so. She meets his gaze and they both laugh and she hasn't had this before, hasn't had giggling and going slow and this sort of wanting before they've even touched.  
  
She takes his hand and guides it between her thighs, some part of her surprised at how wet she is already and he lets out a little broken moan of her name as he cups her, presses a finger against her entrance but not in, his thumb rubbing back and forth on her clit as she clutches his arms tight, leaving crescent marks behind on his biceps. Her orgasm catches her by surprise but he's there, whispering nonsense in her ear as she thrusts against his hand until she's done.  
  
"Þor-" he starts but she kisses him, lets him lift her up, her legs over his hips, his cock pressing against her as he carefully sets them down and she is on top of him, on top of this warrior boy, son of the Earl, Björn Ironside, son of Ragnar Lothbrok and the shield-maiden Lagertha, now an Earl in her own right and he is lying back and guiding her _forward_ and not down towards his cock. "Whatever you want," he murmurs, his pupils so wide his eyes are almost black.  
  
She wants to say something but the words catch in her throat as she moves forward, moves up his body until she hovers over his face. He shifts, cranes his neck towards her and she gets a hand in his hair to guide him as she lowers herself further until his tongue weaves between her folds and she cries out. There's no one for miles, just her and him and the Gods as she arches her back. The second orgasm is slower, heat coiling down her spine to pool in her belly as his tongue finally finds her clit, quick little licks that have her grinding down as is hands hold tight to her thighs, like iron bands. He doesn't slow down or pull back, instead returning to long slow licks as her breath hitches until she is able to move with him, tongue dipping inside and she can barely gasp out his name, her hands reaching up to cup her breasts, rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger as he makes his way back to her clit, leading with his nose, tongue tracing after until he sucks hard at her clit and she squeezes her eyes shut, trying to clench her thighs together. She trembles, the wind whipping at her hair, stinging her bare skin but still his mouth moves and her hips roll to meet his lips and tongue until at last she curls forward one last time, almost sobbing. Her body is on fire, thunder in her ears, her legs trembling as he gently moves them, gathering her in his arms as she slowly uncurls her limbs and breathes again. She glances up at him at last, the dazed delighted grin on his face, a face that is wet and shining from her and she bites her lip and laughs because she can, rolling to bury her head in his shoulder.  
  
"Have I proved myself?" He asks, trying to sound bold and daring, like a warrior but there's a hesitation before he gets the words out, a nervous little edge and she wonders if he's ever done this before at all.  
  
"Let me think," she replies when she can at last, giving him a push to lie back again as she carefully presses a hand between her legs because, impossibly, she still wants more, wants all he will give, all she can take as she moves to straddle him. His cock is hard and hot in her hand and he groans as though she's struck him when she wraps her fingers around his length, thumb rubbing over the head, wet and slick as she is.  
  
"Þorunn," he sobs, shaking with the effort to keep still. "Please, Þorunn, please."  
  
"Shh, Björn," she soothes, her free hand on his stomach, muscles tight beneath her palm. "I love you," she tells him, because she does.  
  
"And you," he gasps, trying so hard to stay still, "I love you, I love you, I lo-"  
  
His words give way to a groan as she sinks down on his cock quicker than she means, gasping in shock as she's suddenly full.  
  
"Are you-" he starts and she waves the question away because he's good, better than good and in a moment she is rising on her knees, slow and steady as he moves too, plants his feet flat on the ground, knees bent to give him better leverage. She doesn't think she'll come again but it's still good even if she bats away the hand that goes to touch her clit and instead gets him to mould both around the curve of her hip because her body feels heavy and light all at once, like she's swimming, that moment when her face is above the water's surface and her body just below, deciding if she will sink or float. "I'm close." The wind almost swallows his voice as she carefully reaches out to cup his cheek, smiling and nodding.  
  
"C'mon," she urges, rolling her hips to meet his until he's no longer tentative, until he thrusts up and she whines in the back of her throat. "Björn!"  
  
True to his word he doesn't last long and she doesn't come this time but she's the one who holds him this time, stretching out atop him to kiss up his throat, to cup his face in her hands and to run her fingers through his hair before she kisses him, both of them breathless and smiling. Her legs feel boneless as she rolls over onto her side so he can tug her close, trying to kiss again but they're too shaky to hold themselves up. At last they're able to get up, Björn tugging her to her feet as they gather their clothes and weapons, stumbling down to the water where the shock of the cold has them both swearing and she can't help it, she kicks out to splash at him and he tackles her, both of them shrieking and laughing until he kisses her again.  
  
"I might need more convincing," she says once they wobble out on numb legs, catching the look he gives her – trying to hide his delight with something a little hurt and surprised.  
  
"You don't believe me?"  
  
"I need to be _very_ sure Björn."  
  
"Well," he sits next to her as they dry off, his hands moving to fix her braids, "I suppose it's only fair. My mother taught me the importance of that."  
  
As she relaxes into the touch, she wonders just how much she has to thank Lagertha for.


End file.
